


Snowstorms and Key Chains

by Indigosquid



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Hidden Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Snowstorms, attempts at banter, averthrobbxmas, dorks being dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 14:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17246198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigosquid/pseuds/Indigosquid
Summary: Theon and Robb have been dating for a while now, but Theon is convinced Robb's family doesn't like him. A snowstorm during Christmas might just bring them together.





	Snowstorms and Key Chains

.

Of course it’s right when Robb’s all cuddled up in front of the TV, a nice hot beverage in hand and the blanket Sansa made him for his birthday wrapped around his shoulders, that the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it!” he calls out over the sound of six dogs barking, untangling himself from the cosy knitted fabric. Under other circumstances he might have let someone else take the door, but Robb only knows one person who would show up at their doorstep when it’s this late and the weather outside is this horrendously cold. He puts down his hot cocoa with a sigh, knowing all too well it will have been snatched away by a younger Stark by the time he gets back, and heads to the hallway.

Robb opens the door without much anticipation because just as he excepted, it’s Theon. He’s covered in snow and shivering madly, which would be due to the fact that it’s absolutely freezing and Theon’s wearing an old jean jacket that’s nowhere close to a proper winter coat. He slides of the headphones he’s wearing -the same pair he’s had since elementary school- to shake the snow out of his dirty-blond hair.

“Hey, you,” Theon smiles through clattering teeth, and that’s when Robb spots an anomaly: because even when Theon stays over for an entire week he only bring a rucksack, but today he’s carrying a black sports bag that Robb’s never seen before.

“Hey,” Robb beams at his boyfriend, though he can’t help but let his eyes wander to the bag in Theon’s hands. “What’s in the-”

“Are you just gonna me leave out here in the cold or are you letting me in?” Theon interrupts, trying but failing to inconspicuously shift his luggage behind his back.

Robb narrows his eyes at him. Theon’s obviously deflecting and Robb’s not having it, but Theon’s trying so hard to look casual, his act collapsing into jittery nervousness the longer Robb looks at him, so Robb figures he should probably drop it. In an attempt to dispel the rising tension, he puts his hand to his chin and stares off into the distance like he’s contemplating some sort of philosophical dilemma and says, “I don’t know.. watching you freeze to death would definitely make my day, but then who’s going to water my plants next time I’m on holiday?”

Theon smiles at him in a way that has never failed to make Robb’s heart pound in his chest. “See,” he says in a low voice, stepping over the threshold and moving in so close Robb can pretty much count the individual snowflakes clinging to his lashes, “I have my uses.”

Robb can’t help himself. With one hand he grabs Theon by his jacket and draws him in for a kiss, slamming Theon’s freezing lips against his own. He puts his other hand to Theon’s cheek, the clashing of warm and cold making his skin tingle, and for a moment he thinks Theon’s going to let him. That is, until Theon pulls away and breaks off the contact, leaving Robb reaching for nothing but dry winter air.

“Shit, Robb!” he hisses, looking around franticly. “You can’t just do that! Do you want them to see?”

Robb puts his hands on his hips. It’s been a while since they had this conversation.

“I’m sick of sneaking around, Theon,” Robb complains, “they’re going to have to find out eventually!”

Theon pauses. He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, but then shakes his head and shrugs of his jacket instead, draping it over the radiator to dry.

“Look, Robb.” He glances at the door before leaning in close. “Your family- they fucking hate me, don’t they?”

Robb immediately wants to protest, but Theon stops him, “You know it’s true. They’ve never approved of our friendship. To them, I’m just some fuck-up coming to ruin their precious son and you know it.”

Robb crosses his arms and looks away. “I don’t know Theon,” he shrugs. “They’re not your biggest fans, sure, but I refuse to believe they outright _hate_ you.”

“You told me yourself, the shit your parents say about me. _Islander scum_.” Theon spits out those last two words as if they were poisonous. Robb swallows. He can’t think of anything to say.

“Seriously Robb, how do you expect they’re going to react if they found out?” Theon continues, his volume and frustration building. “You think they’re going to welcome me with open arms, that all of a sudden we’re singing _kumbaya_ around the fireplace? They’d never allow you to see me again is what they’ll do, and I’m not letting that happen.”

They both stand there wordlessly, the freezing air coming through the still open door making Robb shiver. He wants to believe Theon, wants to believe that what he’s saying is really the only thing that’s keeping him back, but part of him is not willing to accept that his family despises Theon as much as he is convinced they do. Of course his parents would prefer that he’d fall for a nice Northern girl from a well-off family, and he’s not sure if they would’ve reacted as well as they did when he came out to them if he’d been exclusively into men instead of both men and women, but they _did_ accept him. Is it that far off to believe they would accept the man he loves as well?

He’s about to speak up and try to put his swirling thoughts into words, when the door to the living room opens, and in comes Arya; Nymeria by her side.

“Thought I’d hear you talking,” she says to Robb. She looks over at Theon who refuses to meet her eyes, “Didn’t know someone else was here,” the tone of her voice is vaguely threatening, but really, everything Arya says sounds vaguely threatening. What really worries Robb is Nymeria: His sister’s pet is slowly making her way towards Theon, growling lowly, a bit too much like a predator approaching prey.

When Theon spots the oncoming threat his eyes go wild. He’s stumbling over his own legs in his hurry to get back, shouting at the large animal to back off, but Robb knows Nymeria won’t listen to him.

“Arya, do something,” he urges her, “he doesn’t like it.”

But Arya simply watches, looking none too worried as Nymeria backs a panicked looking Theon against the wall, bearing sharp teeth. Robb has no clue what his sister’s up to, though Theon’s words of distrust are ringing in the back of his head. Realistically, he knows Theon’s not in any serious danger but damnit, he feels helpless and he hates it, so he acts in a way he knows he’ll regret. He grabs Arya’s arm with a grip that is sure to leave bruises, yanking her towards him so his face is close to hers and yells,

“Arya, stop her!”

But Robb quickly realises he’s acted sooner than necessary when he hears Theon laughing.

He turns around to see Theon on his knees with Nymeria jumping up against him, licking and sniffing at his hands and face with a fervent enthusiasm. When Theon notices the sudden tension in the room he looks over at the two siblings, trying to hold Nymeria back as he raises an eyebrow at Robb.

Only then Robb realises that he’s till holding on to Arya. He quickly lets go of her, his face turning red from shame. Robb feels like an idiot. He wants to apologise, but something stops the words from coming out. Maybe it’s because he’s in shock. Or maybe it’s the fact that Arya doesn’t seem fazed at all, despite her usually being quick to anger.

There’s mischief in his sister’s eyes as she tells him:

“It’s cold in here. You should probably close the door.”

She looks down at Theon and smiles, before walking off with Nymeria trailing behind her.

Theon gets back up on his feet, his face reflecting the confusion Robb’s feeling as well. “What was that all about?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” is the only response Robb can muster. He hesitantly makes his way towards the door, almost expecting it to blow up in his face when he closes it. It doesn’t.

Robb sighs. “Let’s just go upstairs,” he mutters, running a hand though his curls.

“You’re not going to force me to say hello to everyone this time?” Theon questions. Robb can’t tell if he’s joking or if he’s being serious.

“No. Not this time.”

Theon looks at him like he’s grown another head before he says, “Alright then,” and picks up the bag that had been left near the door throughout the entire ordeal. Robb had entirely forgotten about the thing, but pondering its contents serves as a welcome distraction right now. From the way Theon’s carrying it up the stairs, slowly and with great care, it seems to be precious cargo.

 

~

 

“Hey hotshot,” Robb calls over the simulated sound of gunshots, “put the volume down, will you?”

A couple of hours had past, and they’d settled into Robb’s bedroom. Robb’s seated behind his desk, working on a school assignment that isn’t due for another four weeks, and on the other side of the room Theon’s slouching in a beanbag, controller in hand and eyes locked on the TV.

“Can’t. Busy,” Theon objects monotonously. Not believing that excuse for a second, Robb turns his head and spots the remote on the floor right next to Theon, literally within hand’s reach.

“Come on,” Robb complains, hanging back and swivelling around in his chair. “I said I won’t force you to study, but can you at least not keep _me_ from being productive?”

“Not my fault you’re a massive nerd,” Theon quips, flashing a brief smile at Robb to reassure him he’s joking before turning back. Robb remembers Theon’s cocky demeanour used to be a bit of an issue when they were both going through puberty, with Robb suddenly becoming a lot more insecure and Theon’s usual jibes turning sharper. It was only a bump in their friendship and they sorted it out eventually, but Robb does recall with spite that his parents were a bit too ecstatic when they stopped hanging out for a while.

“But seriously, Robb,” Theon resumes, “we’re supposed to be on a _break_ from school. This is a new low, even for you.”

“I asked you to turn down the volume, asshole, not criticize my life choices.” Theon doesn’t respond this time, but Robb can see the corner of his lips quirking into a smile.

Even after officially sealing the deal on the whole dating thing, their relationship hasn’t actually changed that much from being friends. They don’t see each more than they already did (though truth be told, Robb doesn’t know if that would be possible), and the way they interact still adheres to a  ‘no homo bromance’ as Arya always liked to call it. And yeah, in hindsight, their habit of throwing semi-affectionate insults at each other was definitely some form of flirting, though Robb remained clueless for the longest of time. It wasn’t until Jon confirmed to him that no, friends don’t think about friends 24/7, that he came to the realise what he felt for his best friend.

Meanwhile said best friend-turned-lover still hasn’t turned down the volume and, now that his brains has started to register the sounds of frantic button presses as well, it’s really getting on Robb’s nerves. He decides, then and there, to put a stop it.

He slowly rises from his chair as to remain unnoticed, then proceeds to sneak up behind Theon. Oblivious to Robb’s presence, Theon’s eyes remains focussed on the game as Robb draws in closer and closer, until suddenly he traps his boyfriend in a boa constrictor-level back hug.

Theon jumps, the controller almost slipping from his fingers, managing a distressed “Robb, what the fuck are you doing?” before Robb flings him back with all of his weight, sending the both of them tumbling to the floor.

“You dick!” Theon exclaims, though he can’t help but chuckle as he struggles to escape. He makes a good effort, but proofs to be no match for Robb when the latter throws his legs into the fray as well, wrapping them tightly around Theon’s middle. They’re basically doing an aggressive version of spooning now, with Robb’s limbs trapping a flailing Theon against his chest.

“Come on, Theon! Fight me!” Robb challenges, giggling like he’s a kid again. He climbs on top of a writhing Theon and pins him to the floor by his wrists. They pause for a moment. The sound of their pants is louder in Robb’s ears than the videogame still blearing in the background, and their bodies are warm against each other despite the biting cold outside. Robb is overcome by a strong urge to just lean down and kiss the bastard, but Theon isn’t finished with him just yet.

“Tired already?” Theon provokes with a grin, though Robb can feel his boyfriend’s chest go up and down in rapid breaths beneath him.

“I’ve got you pinned, hotshot,” Robb boasts, “that generally means you’re losing.”

“Generally, yeah. But have you ever heard of taking the low road, Stark?”

“What-“

Suddenly there’s a knee in Robb’s gut, and the next moment they’re rolling around on the floor, caught up in a wrestling match, both of them trying to get the upper hand. There’s a voice that sounds suspiciously like his mom in the back of his head, nagging him that if they don’t watch out they’ll break something, and It doesn’t last long before it proves to speak true. Because when Theon throws Robb over his shoulder in an impressive show of blue-belt judo technique it’s right unto Theon’s mysterious black sports bag, accompanied by the sound of something breaking.

They both stop in their tracks.

“Shit!” Theon curses, the colour draining from his face as he regards the bag underneath Robb with wide eyes. Robb scrambles to get up, hoping he doesn’t make whatever just happened any worse, and watches as Theon’s hands drift over the black sports bag with an uncertain nervousness.

“Theon, I’m so sorry,” Robb begins, but Theon gestures for him to stop without looking. Robb backs up, his hands raised in defence, but still watches Theon closely as he fiddles with the zipper.

“What’s in there anyway?” he asks curiously.

He tries to look inside the sports bag when he hears it zip open, but Theon’s intentionally positioned himself in a way he can’t see its contents.

 “It’s my personal collection of sex toys. Never leave the house without it.”

“Theon.”

“Alright, Alright,” Theon says dryly. His hands are now rummaging through the bag, producing sounds of rustling paper and clinking glass, “It’s enough booze to survive Christmas with the Greyjoys.”

“Funny,” Robb reprimands him, “I almost believed you there.”

When Robb crosses the room Theon turns around to fend him off, but Robb’s not in the mood for another hustle, or worse, an argument.

“Come on,” he begins, kneeling down to Theon’s level, “you can’t bring a mysterious bag into my room and expect me not to want to know what’s inside. That’s a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

Theon bites his lip in contemplation, then finally murmurs, “It’s- I don’t know- kind of embarrassing?”

“I doubt it.”

At last, Theon sighs in defeat. “Fine. Go ahead.”

The look on his face causes something inside of Robb to sway, but his burning curiosity urges him forward. While Theon goes to sulk on the bed, Robb crawls towards the bag and pulls the flaps aside; and really, he doesn’t know what to say or think because he doesn’t understand how this could possibly be embarrassing.

The bag’s filled with presents. A couple of them, about seven, wrapped in a variety of Christmas-y colours. One of them is ripped open to reveal a broken bottle which Robb concludes was once filled with the seashells and sand now spilled unto the wrapping paper. A stupid sort of hope pops up in the back of his mind for a second, thinking that maybe Theon intents to spent Christmas with Robb’s family this year, but then he reads some of the name tags - _Rodrik, Asha, Victarion-_ and he slowly begins to understand.

“You bought your family presents?”

“I know,” Theon grumbles, “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not! That’s so sweet!”

“Shut up,” Theon grabs a pillow from the bed and chucks it in Robb’s direction. It lands a solid couple of metres away from its intended target, causing Theon to let out a long groan before he lets himself fall back unto the mattress.

Robb chuckles, but something still doesn’t add up. He almost doesn’t want to ask -he knows it’s not Theon’s favourite subject to talk about- but not for the first time this evening curiosity proves to be a strong motivator.

“But you told me you couldn’t stand your father’s family.”

Theon sits up and shrugs, a grimace on his lips. “You’re not wrong. They’re all pretty shit.” He pauses to scoff. “But my uncle Rodrik’s bringing my mom along this year. And I don’t want her to think she’s raised an inattentive prick.”

His voice breaks ever so slightly at the end, enough for Robb to tell Theon’s struggling, knowing that Theon hates it when the walls he’s built around him are about to break. Moments like these are difficult for Robb. Theon carries a lot of baggage with him, that’s just who he is, and Robb knows nothing in his life can really come close to anything Theon has ever dealt with. But Robb still wants to be there for him, and sometimes that means he doesn’t know if what he’ll say is what Theon wants or needs to hear.

Still, that never stops him from trying anyway.

He stands up and goes to sit on the bed next to Theon. Gently, he puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close.

“Hey,” Robb speaks softly, “I get that.”

Theon doesn’t say anything, lying his head on Robb’s shoulder instead. For a while, they just sit there on the bed in silence, finding comfort in each other’s company like they always did and still do.

“I don’t know,” Theon begins eventually, “I like giving gifts, I guess. The way people look at you when you’ve found them something nice, something they really like- makes me feel appreciated. Like people are actually happy with me.”

Theon looks up at Robb.

“That sounds seriously pathetic, doesn’t it?” he remarks, before letting his head fall back down unto Robb’s shoulder.

Robb sighs with pressed lips and begins to run a hand through Theon’s unwashed locks. He knows Theon doesn’t expect an answer, but Robb’s going to give him one anyway.

“Theon.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you do something for me?”

“Depends,” Theon counters, deadly serious in his suspicion, and Robb can’t help but snicker. Leave it to Theon to distrust the simplest request.

Not one to easily be dissuaded by Theon’s guarded demeanour, Robb continues, “Can you get it in your head that I would never, _ever_ , in a million fucking years think of you as pathetic? And if anyone’s ever told you that, they’re wrong, you hear me? They’re wrong and they don’t deserve you. And I will personally go after anyone who’s ever convinced you otherwise.”

Their eyes meet. Theon doesn’t look like he beliefs Robb all that much, but there’s an adoration in his eyes that’s just for him, and Robb treasures that more than anything. He knows he won’t chase away  Theon’s self-doubt with just a couple of sentences, but more than anything Robb needs Theon to know that he cares, that he tries to understand, and that there’s always someone in his corner.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Theon mumbles after a while.

“What thing?”

He nudges Robb with his shoulder and fails to hide a smile. “That thing where you’re being the perfect boyfriend and make me feel like an inconsiderate prick.”

Robb makes an incredulous noise and smacks Theon playfully on the back of the head. “Oh now you really need to shut it,” he huffs.

“I’m serious,” Theon says in a completely non-serious tone. He puts his head in Robb’s lap and looks up at him innocently. “You’ve earned yourself plenty of boyfriend points, _just_ for putting up with me all day.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right,” Robb proclaims with mock sincerity. “It’s not that I love you or anything. The only reason I’m with you is to rack up those sweet, sweet boyfriend points. Twenty more and I’ve got enough for a box of chocolates!”

Theon grins. He likes it when Robb plays along with his bits. He sits up on one elbow so that his face is right up to Robb’s.

“I think I might know how to get you those remaining twenty,” he murmurs, his eyes burning with underlying intentions. It seems the privacy of Robb’s bedroom is enough for Theon to disregard his fear of getting caught, and in turn -and much to Robb’s delight- Theon’s the one showing initiative.

Robb licks his lips subconsciously. “Do you now?” he purrs, “What’s your suggestion?”

“How ‘bout you kiss me already?”

Robb nods. “That should do it,” he mutters, before closing the gap between them.

But then, for some fucking reason, Jon burst through the door.

“Hey Robb, did you see- oh, Jesus, gross!”

They immediately break apart. The thing is, Jon is the only Stark who knows about them. For some reason, he just keeps walking in on them by accident, much to all of their grievance. It doesn’t help that Jon always has the worst possible timing.

“What do you want, Jon?” Robb sighs.

Jon pulls a face. “Just wanted to ask if you’d seen my charger, but never mind.” He says, running out in a hurry.”

Robb looks over at Theon, who has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You took it, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.”

“Of course you did.”

Theon winks at him before looking at his phone. What he sees apparently shocks him, because the next second he’s jumping up form the bed.

“Shit, Robb. I need to go,” He blurts, moving to take his bag.

“What? Why?”

“It’s way too late, I really need to be home on time, I’m sorry.”

“Christmas eve is tomorrow, you’ve got plenty of time,” Robb crawls over to the side of his bed where Theon is and grabs his arm in protest. “Theon, please,” he nags, “just stay a little longer. Do you want me to sing ‘Baby, it’s cold outside’? Because I will.”

Theon sighs, but he does with a smile. “Fine. You’ve convinced me.”

He drops his bag and plops down on the bed.

“Now where were we?”

_______

The next morning when Theon looks out the window, all he can see is white. It had been snowing the day before, but now an ungodly amount of it was falling from the sky, forming a blanket so thick Theon could barely see the other side of the garden. The high pitch of howling wind is seeping straight through the walls, and it definitely feels a lot colder than it did when they went to sleep.

Robb, whose favourite season had been winter for as long as Theon had known him, is not bothered by this in the slightest and stares out the window in wordless awe. But Theon, ever the worrier, grabs his phone with and checks the weather app, a sinking feeling in his gut as he reads the information on his screen.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’ve got to be _fucking_ kidding me.”

“What is it?”

“It’s bullshit, is what it is! How am I supposed to- _fuck_.”

Robb tears his eyes from the falling snow and turns towards him, “Theon. What’s wrong?” he asks.

He holds up his phone for Robb to see, waits for him to finish reading.

“A snowstorm?”

“Level 3,” Theon elaborates, “which means nobody should be out, which means I can’t go home” He runs a hand through his hair, sighing, “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“Just, calm down,” Robb says carefully, “call your dad; and then we’re gonna eat breakfast and we’re going to be fine, alright?”

Theon nods. Robb pecks him on the cheek and leaves him with a heavy heart.

______

Robb doesn’t know if he can stand his mother’s judging eyes for much longer. It’s been 20 minutes since he’d left Theon upstairs to call, and his father insisted they’d wait for him, which means they’ve been seated at the dinner table for quite some time now while the food gets cold, much to everyone’s displeasure. Their impatience is clear to see: Sansa’s staring at her phone, Arya’s stabbing the table with the blunt side of her knife, and Bran makes attempts at stuffing food in his mouth before anyone can notice. Jon’s sulking as always; Rickon’s not even seated at the table anymore, and his father tries desperately to keep the everyone in check and as mentioned previously, his mother is glaring daggers at him. Robb feels guilty, but mostly frustrated. What could possibly take so long?

They all look up when they hear the sound of the stairs creaking, and seconds later Theon enters the dining room. His stance betrays an uneasiness, and he’s looking at them all with red, puffy eyes. He sits down in the empty chair next to Robb without exchanging any words. When Ned tells him good morning, he mutters back a disheartened response.

They eat in relative silence. There’s the occasional small talk, about school and work and after-school activities, and all the while Theon’s sat next to Robb giving off an awful tension, poking at his food with his head leaning on one hand. But no matter how hard Robb tries to catch his eye, to wordlessly ask if he’s okay, Theon refuses to look at him.

However, when the topic of conversation lands on the weather, Theon sits up straight.

“Uncle Edmure called this morning,” Catelyn announces, “They won’t be able to make it tonight.”

“Lucky,” Arya mutters with a smile, but is quickly shot down by a glare from Catelyn and a jab in the side from Jon.

“As a matter of fact we will all be staying inside today,” she continues, voice sharp and strict, “That means no playing in the garden until the storm subsides; it’s simply too dangerous.”

“So what about Theon?” Bran pipes up.

Dead silence falls over the room once again. Theon’s back to staring at his plate.

“What about him?” his mother responds coolly.

“If we can’t go out,” Bran resumes, “is Theon going to be staying with us this Christmas?”

Robb feels a sense of distress as his family members start talking amongst themselves. He tries to but fails to catch a single word of what they’re saying. He looks back at Theon; he’s beginning to look sicker by the second, shaking with tension like a time-bomb set to explode.

“Are you joking?” Sansa’s voice cuts in, “he’s always around, can’t he stay with his own family for the holidays at least?”

Robb wants to warn her, but doesn’t want to talk down to one of his sisters again. His father, however, seems to be on the same page.

“That’s enough, Sansa,” he berates her, calm as ever. He turns to address Theon, “I understand if you would rather spent this time with your own family, but you are welcome here for as long you’d like.” His father’s words are sincere but there’s an edge to his voice that Robb doesn’t recognise. It makes him uncomfortable. It could be anger, disappointment or just irritation caused by the storm, but whatever it was, it didn’t sound all too pleasant.

Theon must have heard it as well, because suddenly he’s up and standing. He doesn’t look like he planned for this action, because he blurts out an excuse of having to use the bathroom before he’s walking out the room in a hurry.

It feels like they’re back at the beginning of breakfast, with Theon’s absence leaving a dreary tension while they finish their food. Eventually Jon asks him, “What was that all about”, though Robb can’t really find an answer. After some time they get up to clear the table, and nobody but Robb remains with Theon’s absence in the forefront of their thoughts. But through the clanking of pots and pans and dishes, nobody hears the door carefully being closed shut.  

____________

He pushes onwards. The sharp edges of the objects inside the bag hoisted around his shoulder dig into his back. Snow keeps falling, pounding, cutting. It hurts. He didn’t expect it to hurt so much. His fingers are hot and cold at the same time, numb to the point he can’t feel the fabric of his pockets, and the tips of his ears, poking out from the scarf he had managed to wrap around his face and neck in his hurry, singe with pain. The wind cuts straight through the layers of his clothes, keeps him from moving any more than a step at a time. When he thinks about still being out here in ten, twenty, thirty minutes, he wants nothing more than to give up.

But Theon’s got a clear goal in mind and that’s what keeps him going. He thinks of mangled Christmas turkey, butchered by his and Asha’s unskilled hands; he hears the drunken laughter of his uncles as they poke fun at his dad, can almost hear himself laughing along quietly and secretly, the taste of alcohol in his mouth. And if he taps into that numbing pain, the weariness in his bones, he can almost smell his mother’s baking; and if he would squint, he could see his father smile.

He keeps going. Theon’s sure that it can’t be more than half an hour since he left Stark manor behind him, but it’s starting to feel like hours have gone by. He looks around, or tries to at least; but the snow makes it seem like he’s looking at static on a screen. Factually, he knows where he is: There’s only one road headed from the Stark’s estate to the rest of town, and Theon’s been walking it for years and years. It’s a long stretch of barren gravel, a fenced off meadow on one side and a forest on the other, and to Theon’s great misfortune there are no other houses for miles. There’s no pavement, so he takes to walking along the stretch of grass that has been beaten into a path by the soles of his own shoes over time. He can usually tell by every rock, every log and every misplaced twig scattered along the way how much longer it would take to reach the end of the road, but with the snow up to his knees and his eye-sight limited, Theon can’t rely on his usual markers.

This time he’s walking right down the motorway, but getting run over is not his largest concern. There’s no car in sight, and really, why would there be? Only a madman would go out right now. But Theon knows when he is unwanted, and with the eyes and the words of the Starks stabbing at him like pitchforks, he knew it was time for him to leave. And maybe he should’ve let Robb know he was leaving, but Theon knows that conversation might have been enough to make him stay.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can take this. The cold is seeping into his clothes, clawing into his skin with icy fingers, and his legs are growing heavier and heavier with every step he takes. The sound of his heartbeat is deafening. His head feels like it’s spinning. And now he really can’t feel his fingers anymore. He knows, assumes that he won’t die here, because wouldn’t it be ridiculous if Theon Greyjoy died in a snowstorm? He would’ve never imagined that to be the grand finale of his existence, not even when he stepped out that door and made that fatal choice.

He spots shapes a few feat ahead of him. Trees perhaps? Theon decides he could use a little bit of rest. He sinks into the snow below the tree, the cold now swallowing him whole. He closes his eyes, tries to convince himself this is not defeat; and he doesn’t now for how long he’s there, but when he hears his name being called and the sound of dogs barking, Theon’s sure he’s hallucinating.

_____

Against every expectations he had, Theon wakes up in a room. He recognises this room, in fact. Crème wallpaper, white bedsheets, fairy lights and a dressing table: This is Sansa’s bedroom.

Theon doesn’t know for sure why he’s wrapped up in blankets on Sansa’s bed but bits and pieces of memory are drifting up from his subconscious: freezing cold pierced by warm breath on his face; people, their features made unrecognizable by thick scarves covering their face; and Robb. He can’t see him but he can hear his voice, feel his presence; Robb’s there beside him.

He’s about to get up, untangle himself from the mess of blankets and find answers, when the room’s owner enters with a steaming cup in her hands and concern mixed with something angry written on her face.

“Lie down,” Sansa tells him with an authority that reminds him of Mrs. Stark. Theon is quick to comply.

She hands him the cup, and when Theon peers inside and smells it he concludes it’s hot chocolate. He takes a cautious sip as she goes to sit beside him on the bed.

“What were you thinking?!” Sansa snaps, shoving him hard enough to almost make Theon spill the hot chocolate all over her bed.

“Where’s Robb,” is the only thing that Theon can muster. The anger switches to full on venomous.

“Downstairs. Where’s been for the past two hours freaking out because you scared him to death!”

Suddenly, it’s coming back to Theon. He ran out the door, panicked, like an idiot, straight into a snowstorm. He realises they must have found him after a while, that the barking he heard was definitely not something he’d imagined.

“Why am I in _your_ room,” Theon asks Sansa,  “Is Robb angry with me or something?”

He immediately realises that what he said wasn’t very tactful when she scoffs indignantly.

“You’re in my room because I volunteered to look after you! No one forced me to do it but I did. You may not like me or any one of us, Theon, but I’m a good person.”

Theon sits up, surprised at her words. “You think I’m the one who’s got a dislike against all of you?” he defends himself, “you’re an annoying brat who nags me more than Asha does, but _you_ are the one whose always been a bitch to _me_! You literally told me you wanted me gone, and you ask me why I did it? I’ve never been welcomed by anyone in this household except for Robb, and maybe your father, but he only does for Robb’s sake and definitely not mine!

She looks of to the side, taken aback. “Sometimes I don’t know why I say the things I do,” she says quietly, “but do you really think that I would’ve checked up on you for these past two hours if I didn’t care? I don’t hate you, Theon. And I don’t think any of us do.” The corner of her lip quirks up as she adds, “Expect maybe Jon.”

Theon smiles back at her and considers her words in his head. He had to admit, he never thought about it that way; that perhaps it goes both ways. When he thinks back to the beginning of his friendship with Robb he definitely tried to be as polite as possible, as you do when you make a new friend. But over the years Theon had started to slack off, started to take a solid relationships with the other Starks for granted. And maybe, while he had grown distant over the years, they had returned the favour.

“Though if anyone really doesn’t like me, it’s your mother.” He mutters.

Sansa presses her lips together and nods.

“Right now Robb probably isn’t my biggest fan either, is he?”

“He seems worried, mostly,” Sansa explains. “But if Joffrey would run out on me on the day before Christmas, I’d be mad as well.”

Theon clenches his fist and swallows, the fear of confrontation forming a lump in his throat.

“I need to talk to him eventually, don’t I?”

She nods again, looks at him with a bit more sympathy now. Theon gets up from the bed, but Sansa urges him to sit down.

“You can stay here,“ she says, “I’ll go get him for you.”

He mutters out a quick thanks as she makes her way towards the door. But as she leaves, Theon calls out to her:

“Hey, Sansa?”

She turns and looks at him.

“About Joffrey, yeah? Just ditch the prick already.”

She groans in annoyance, and as Sansa rolls her eyes at him before walking off, Theon can’t help but feel a twinge of affection for her.

_____

Theon’s seated on the bed with his head in his hands when the door creaks open once again. Within seconds, Robb is on his knees in front of him, taking Theon’s hands in his and pushing their foreheads together.

“Are you okay?” Robb asks franticly.

Theon nods, but Robb gives him no room for any other response as he immediately launches off into a tangent.

“Thank god! I was so scared, you idiot! We were cleaning up and then you just _disappeared_ out of _thin air_ and I was so concerned, and I wanted to search the house but everyone was saying it was _probably_ nothing, and then the dogs, all of them, they started barking at the door, and those dogs are _never_ wrong so I knew, _I knew_ that something must’ve been up and then me and my dad, and Jon, we went out there and thank fuck we found you, Theon, I-”

“Robb, hey,” Theon interrupts him, putting some distance between them to give Robb space. He’s breathing and rambling at a rapid pace, and Theon doesn’t want him to launch into a full on panic attack, “it’s okay, Robb, I’m fine, just-”

“You are such a dick sometimes, you know that!” Robb yells, suddenly jumping up on his feet. “Why would you do something like that?”

Theon opens his mouth to formulate an excuse or an explanation, a sentence at least, but Robb keeps talking.

“You know,” he says, “when that blizzard hit, I was so fucking happy. Because I thought that now, maybe, you could spent time with me, with my _family_ , and you could all get over your _stupid_ feud.”

Robb takes a step closer, leaning over Theon, crowding him.

“Do I really mean that little to you?”

“No!” Theon exclaims. His throat feels raw and tight, and he’s furiously blinking away tears. The notion alone, that their relationship would mean nothing to him, tears straight into his heart.

“Because why is it then, Theon, that you would run straight into a fucking snowstorm at just the idea of having to spend Christmas me?”

“It’s not just you, alright!”

That seems to shift something in Robb’s demeanour. He puts his hands on Theon’s shoulders, and with the same fervent insistence but a lot less accusation he asks, “Then what is it, Theon? Please, just tell me.”

Theon takes a deep breath.

“When I called my dad this morning.. well he was fucking pissed; I think you could’ve guessed that much yourself. But it wasn’t- there was something off, I could tell. he just kept yelling, about you and your family, about how I was a disappointment to my own. But he seemed upset about something, something that didn’t have anything to do with me.

And when I walked away from breakfast this morning, I swear, Robb, I didn’t mean to leave. I was upset, and I went to the restroom to just- cry, I don’t know. And then Asha called me. She was mad, like my dad, that I didn’t go straight home the day before. But then she told me that my mom couldn’t make it, because of the storm. And when she told me.. it’s just- she sounded so vulnerable; and you know she’s not like that at all.

And I don’t think you would get it  -because you have parents and siblings and a whole family that loves you unconditionally - but the only thing that brought us together as kids is that we loved our mother and hated the rest of them. And it’s been so difficult ever since Rodrik and Maron died- and I felt so guilty, that I couldn’t be there for her. That she had to miss not only mom, but me as well. And that she had to spend Christmas barred in with our family all on her own. So I ran. And it was stupid and I should have told you. But I didn’t know, Robb- I didn’t know any better.”

He looks Robb in the eyes and thanks god he finds sympathy. Robb brings him in close, like he did the night before, and the rhythm of Robb’s breathing brings him serenity.

“I think I should apologize as well.” Robb tells him.

“No, you really don’t-.”

“-I overreacted. I shouldn’t have. And we both fucked up. I should have taken you more seriously when you said what you did about my family. And if you want to just stay up here for the rest of the evening, that’s fine.”

Theon laughs. “I don’t think Sansa would appreciate me staying here the entire night.”

“You know what I meant,” Robb says, slightly amused, “you can stay in my room.”

“No,” Theon stands up, determent. “I’m going downstairs. I’m going to talk to your family. I’m going to play with Rickon. I’m going to talk about politics with your father. I’m going to eat your mother’s food, and laugh at Jon’s unfunny jokes. Because I want to spend Christmas with you, Robb. And with your family.”

He puts out his hand. “So let’s do this, yeah?”

The look Robb has on his face right now already makes up for it all. He smiles as he takes Theon’s hand and kisses him on the cheek.

“I love you, idiot.”

“love you too.”

____

Dinner was a vast improvement from breakfast, in Robb’s opinion. A new mentality seemed to work wonders for Theon, and a bit of alcohol in his system as they feasted on mother’s famous turkey definitely improved his boyfriend’s mood as well. It felt like there had been major shift in everyone’s stances since Theon was brought back safe, and even Sansa seemed to have shifted her ground about Theon, even willing to chat with him over dinner. From entrée to desert, there had been no squabbling, no ill-intended comments; though Robb didn’t miss the suspicion towards Theon that his mother still couldn’t manage to hide.

After dinner they had played board games together, which despite the usual rage and disputes that occurs when you play board games with your family went surprisingly well. It was late now, so when Robb makes his way towards his bedroom after brushing his teeth and still hears noise downstairs, he’s a bit confused.

He threads down the stairs to investigate, and is surprised to find Theon at the dinner table, working away at something. The black sports bag, which Robb had completely forgot about after everything, is beside him on the floor.

“Whatya doing there, Hotshot?”

Theon is startled, but relaxes when he sees it’s Robb. He gestures for him to come over, and Robb complies. When he looks over Theon’s shoulder he sees the bottle that Robb broke when they were messing around, the sand and shells scooped back in, in the process of being glued back again.

“Oh, shit, let me help-”

“It’s fine,” Theon says, “I’ve got it.” He takes the bottle of glue that’s on the table next to him, picks up the last shard, and attaches it to the rest with careful hands. “There.”

Robb inspects the bottle. “For who is it?” he asks.

“It was supposed to be for my mom,” Theon elaborates. “We used to go the beach a lot, when we were little. And there are lot of beaches on the Islands, so we did this thing during the summer where we tried to cross them all off. So a couple of months ago, I took Asha’s car and went around the Islands, to collect shells and sand from every beach.” Theon chuckles. “So yeah, I panicked a bit when you broke it.”

Robb nods towards the bag. “What are you going to do with the rest of them?”

There’s a gleam in Theon’s eye when he looks up at Robb.

“I actually wanted to ask your help for that.”

_______

 

Theon did not think this through.

He sneaked down into the kitchen this morning with the idea in mind that he would cook up an amazing breakfast: Eggs, toast, pancakes and bacon; Theon was out to impress.

The only problem is: Theon can’t cook for shit. Warming up a bowl of soup is about the extent of his abilities as a chef, and Robb had always been the capable cook out of the two of them, but as he wanted to surprise them all, Robb had to be sorely missed.

On the plus side, the snowstorm pretty much seems to be over. It’s still dark outside, but just bright enough that he can watch the last flakes of snow fall, signifying an end to the raging blizzard that had caused him so much stress. He just wanted to get this one last thing done, and then he’d go home.

Though, after everything that had happened, Theon doesn’t know if he’s looking forward to that anymore.

He’s stirred from his thoughts by the scent of something burning. It takes Theon a while to spot the source of it as there are a bunch of things in the kitchen that could be on fire right now, but he quickly discovers it’s the toast. In his panic, he tries to grab the slices of burning hot bread with his bare hands, and to add to his suffering, he bumps his hand against the scolding toaster.

And if that wasn’t enough, the oven starts beeping.

Theon rapidly shakes his hand in pain, cursing and shouting, and quickly runs to sink to cool his hand. He sighs a sigh of relief as the cool water runs down his fingers, but does a double take when he notices something strange.

The oven stopped beeping.

He turns around to find Mrs. Stark standing by the oven, dressed in pyjamas and barely looking awake. It’s a strange sight.

“What exactly are you doing, Theon.”

Theon tries to read her, but as usual, he can’t.

“I was- just cooking breakfast. I mean- I’m- I’m trying to. I- I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to, I just-”

For the first time since- ever, really, Robb’s mother smiles at him.

“It’s alright Theon. That’s very kind of you. Let me help you.”

The rest of the morning they cook together in silence. Or, well, Mrs. Stark cooks and Theon helps. It’s about the weirdest thing Theon has ever experienced, but as she quietly asks question about him, about his family, what he thinks of Robb, it feels like something positive.

Eventually the rest of the Starks come downstairs with screams of Merry Christmas and calls for presents. Tense excitement wells up in Theon’s chest. He really, really hopes this will go over well.

They all dig into breakfast. Some of it is a bit burnt but they all seem grateful, especially the little Starks as they rave over Theon’s chocolate-butter-marshmallow pancakes, a greasy abomination that he and Asha once dreamt up when they kids. As they finish up the call for presents is once again heard, and Robb squeezes Theon’s hand under the table.

Arya is the first one to notice.

“I’m not crazy am I? There are more presents under the tree then yesterday, right?

The Stark children turn to their parents for an explanation, but they are both as confused as the kids are.

Theon decides to speak up, and clears his throat.

“Those are from me, actually.”

“What?” Sansa blurts out. “How?”

“I bought them for my own family, so I didn’t have any use for them now.”

“Theon, you don’t need to-”

“It’s fine, Mr. Stark.” Theon cuts him off. “I want to do this. As an act of kindness, but as an apology as well. I should’ve been better.”

The Starks exchange looks, contemplating, nodding, before Mr. Stark speaks for them all:

“I think your apology is accepted Theon. And I hope you understand it goes both ways.”

Theon nods, and Robb smiles at him, happier than he’s ever seen him. The urge to take his hand is strong, but he’s saving it for later.

He just then notices that they’re all still looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, the presents- well, yeah, just go ahead I suppose,” he tells them.

Cautiously, they all make their way towards the tree. Theon really hopes they don’t notice the tacked over name stickers.

Arya is the first to open hers. When she takes it out, Theon’s glad to see she gasps in awe.

It was supposed to be for Asha, an ornate pocket knife, with a scene of sailors fighting a kraken carved into the wood.

“Theon. This is amazing!” she gleams excitedly, flipping the knife open and stabbing at the air.

“I’m sure whoever was supposed to receive it would get along with you just fine,” Sansa comments.

Theon would agree.

Next is Sansa. She tears open the wrapping paper, and reveals an old book bound in pink leather, the letters on the cover faded.

“What is it?” Sansa asks, stroking the cover tenderly.

“It’s a poetry bundle. It was for my uncle Rodrik, he’s a bit of bookworm.”

“It’s lovely,” she smiles at him. “Thank you.”

The rest unwrap their presents in a blur. A bottle of rum for Ned, intended for his dad. Socks for Bran and Rickon, bought for uncle Victarion on a whim, and a mug for Jon (“Why a mug,” Jon had asked. “because you’re both my least favourite,” Theon had answered.)

Lastly, Catelyn opened her gift. It was the gift that was the biggest gamble, the one he couldn’t really seem to match. As she looked at the idol carved from driftwood, Theon was about to launch into an explanation when she spoke:

“An angel.”

“It’s a stall ornament. I was going to give it to my uncle Aeron -he’s a pastor- but I wasn’t sure if it was too simple for a catholic family, you know, it’s doesn’t really-“

“It’s lovely, Theon. I’ll put it in our stall as soon as possible.”

Theon sighs a breath of relief, but a new tension arises. They’ve all opened their gifts- now it was time for the most important of all.

“Now, Robb.” He says, calling for their attention. “I didn’t get you anything, or not an object at least. I hope this will suffice.”

At last, he takes Robb’s hand.

“I just wanted to tell you,” he speaks to them all, trying to put as much officiality into his voice, “that Robb and I are dating. Have been for a while actually. And I just- I hope that you’ll all accept this, because I love Robb. And I hope you’ll accept me.”

They’re all quiet, in a way that Theon can’t tell what they’re thinking. Robb is nearly crushing Theon’s hand, and his palms feel sweaty. He hopes, for the love of god, that they’ll be alright.

Surprisingly, it’s Rickon who speaks up, “But- we knew that already?”

What.

“You really think we didn’t notice?” Sansa adds, “God, it was so obvious.”

“Seriously,” Bran says, “we didn’t even think you were trying to hide it.”

“Well,” Robb says delighted, “I think this is the perfect opportunity to give you _my_ gift.”

Theon’s still absolutely reeling, but finds a way to turn his attention towards his boyfriend. “You- you got me a gift?” he stammers.

“It’s not a Christmas gift; I was going to give it to you later. But I wrapped it up while you were sleeping.”

Robb reaches into the tree, grabbing a tiny packages hanging from one of the branches and hands it to Theon. He takes it with slightly shaking fingers; it fits in the palm of his hand.

He carefully removes the wrapping paper with bated breath.

It’s.. a key?

“A key to the house.” Robb elaborates, putting his hand over Theon’s and closing Theon’s fingers around the tiny silver object. “So you can come whenever you want. It’s a gift from all of us actually.”

“Robb, I don’t- I don’t know what to say, I-“

“How about you kiss me already?” Robb says coyly.

Theon takes Robb’s face in his hands and kisses him like it’s the very first time.

Outside, the last snowflake falls from the sky.

 


End file.
